In hockey there are ultimately four lines of defense. The front line of that defense, is of course the two skaters who are, well yeah, playing defense. The second, is the guy on the team with the most expensive paint job on his helmet; the starting goaltender. That’s right, your Patrick Roys, Henrik Lundqvists, Arturs Irbes, and if you’re watching the Red Wings, whoever didn’t get pulled last game after letting in four goals in the first period. Behind those guys are the backup goalies who play when the starter is sick, injured, doing bad, or might need a break after too many consecutive games. These guys are the real heroes, who often boost morale for the team from the end of the bench usually reserved for the stick rack or medical staff. Who does that leave? The lonely soul who’s phone number lay etched in a bar napkin buried beneath the tattered cardboard from a 20-pack of Powerade crushed under the second row of seats in the coach’s Suburban. The one who’s a foot shorter than the team’s shortest center. The man who works part-time at the fitness center, but full-time in the paint department at an Ace Hardware. The one that’s rarely called. The one that’s never sober. The emergency goalie.
It was two weeks before our very own number one suffered catastrophic engine failure. Which to be clear isn’t any of the times it overheated, needed another new fuel pump or another alternator, or even when it just didn’t want to do anything for months. Two weeks before the inevitable happened, I bought another Xterra. My theory was that if the one I bought for just over $2000 was both a living nightmare and a RockAuto vendor’s wet dream, could you imagine what type of wild pleasure I could unearth after putting my Herbie Hancock amid the stained edges of the title to one for $800?
It was a 2001, one-owner, 231,XXX mile, replacement muffler included in the price, squeals when you turn the wheel too far in either direction dream cruise. You know how anyone with a pink deer decal on the back of either their Pontiac G6 or Jeep Liberty is a tan blonde college girl? Solar Yellow, is that pink deer decal for Xterras. Like that decal, this color too screams I AM PASSIONATE OF NOTHING to strangers in traffic. Many Xterra owners resort to nicknaming their trucks after the retro arcade game that will never die, PacMan, which is fitting because for every year the Xterra was sold up until 2009, the truck was available in Solar Yellow. Complete with the stereotypical damage-multiplier bumper that works as well as a wrist brace in a fist fight, because whatever you’ve just ran into regardless of where on the front of the truck you’ve ran into it, has now equally distributed it’s damage to both headlights and across the top of the hood. And much like any American Cheese yellow SUV, the brush guard front bumpers with matching taillight cages, are fucking ugly.
This four-wheel-drive squinting like you’re taking a shit emoji Xterra had sat for over two years before little ole’ “I should know better” [me] came running to it. It needed work.
All four shocks felt pretty toast, but only the front tires were worn down to the cords. Have you heard of Provider Entrada tires? Neither did I, but if it sounds like a menu item at Chipotle and they come in pairs for $30; as long as my girlfriend doesn’t find out, count me in. The tires from the junkyard held air, so next was a second oil change. The oil was dark, and to avoid a second blown engine, I drove for a few days with the first fresh oil change, but soon changed it again just to be safe. Spark plugs and wires were next, and to my surprise, this truck had 5 champion spark plugs, and one NGK. The lone NGK plug was that pesky sparkplug#6 that apparently if you’re too stupid to figure out a simple combination of wobble extensions and u-joints, you just fucking leave it in there forever hoping it changes itself. It doesn’t.
With a $40 Walmart battery I hit the streets in a truck that was roughly a Dodge Journey Uber ride to work for a week less embarrassing, than having to Uber to work for a week in a fucking Dodge Journey. It had a sunroof, which our Xterra didn’t, but the stock radio was a serious killer. I’m convinced only clinically insane people still listen to AM/FM radio in 2017. The best part about paying for a music subscription is that unlike AM/FM radio, you have access to more than 8 different songs from the last 200 years.
The power steering pump was in bad shape and I didn’t want to replace it. I had hoped soon I could sell this lemon meringue pie eyesore, so I kept maintenance to a minimum. Did it need a timing belt and water pump? Probably. Did it wobble both times I drove it on the highway at 65mph because the original shocks just couldn’t shock anymore? Sure. Was I going to fix any of that? Not this time you fucking money pit.
I did replace the muffler because I knew it would help it sell. The y-pipe did look like it might need replaced soon, but the previous owner only had the muffler section, so there was no sense in not installing free parts. The check engine light had been defeated, and after a junkyard hood latch assembly was bolted on, the hood could now stay closed without the help from ratchet straps or duct tape.
The interior however is where things got really messy. Mold had grown in both of the rear-passenger cupholders and blanketed across each scratched plastic panel and cushion seat sat a layer of neglect. Chicken nuggets and broken Asprins had invaded the carpet. We found over $14 in pocket change, and after removing the front seats to power wash them, through some sort of fake-reality restoration TV magic, brought the interior back to life.Unfortunately on this TV show, none of our wealthy cousins, who we had hired hours before the filming for the episode started, called us willing to pay a lot of money for something so worthless.
During the prolonged downtime, this $800 pineapple-flavored life saver came in handy numerous times. It was used to haul tools and parts back and forth between work at home, as well as go under the knife a few times to test various parts between the two trucks. As humiliating as it was to drive everyday, it spent more days this year as a functioning vehicle, than the silver Xterra has ever achieved consecutively.
After the engine swap hit rock bottom, I knew I had to get away from something old with so many miles, and soon. After only a few days listed on Craigslist, where all project cars begin, someone actually serious about buying it called, and I sold the truck for $1700. The extra money was a huge help, especially because I had to find something, and move away from the every evening and weekend consuming hobby of owning yet another Nissan anything.
It’s a perfect example of being an emergency goalie. You’re on-call for a long time without ever getting called, but when you’re called upon for those meaningless last two minutes in the game, you’re better than nothing, and sometimes, that’s just good enough.
InAnXterra is a blog about two people in Michigan with a Nissan Xterra from Craigslist as they journey to the Dakotas!
It was once impossible to watch even Red Green on television without seeing a CASH4GOLD sales pitch amid eloquent commercial interruption. Simply place your valuable gold jewelry into a clear sandwich bag, Ziploc it safely in a clear bag known as a Refiner’s Pack, and hand it off to the same people that struggle to deliver postcards on time. If it ever did find its way to Pompano Beach, FL, it would be weighed and appraised. However this was ultimately CASH4GOLD’s demise. Through a mystery shopper program, it was discovered that CASH4GOLD was unsurprisingly more 4GOLD than they were for giving anyone cash. Rings worth $17 in weight at other places, ended up yielding just $7.91 to these corporate leprechauns in Florida.
I was worried about the same practice with the used engine we replaced our Xterra’s dead engine with. Its former shell, a carcass of a Solar Yellow 2002 Xterra whose front engine collisions happened so suddenly, the exhaust manifold cracked on either side of the 3.3-liter V-6. Whatever hit it, was big and fast. My wallet on the other hand, especially during this debacle, was also reaching excessive speeds, but was ever-shrinking. This engine needed to work, and if it didn’t, I might as start working on getting a second job.
It’s first oil change was scary. It was similar to an experience I had in college, where beer bottles in the dorm didn’t signify whatever was in that bottle was beer. It could be warm beer, cold beer, or in once instance a suspiciously pale, pale ale that for a reason still a mystery today, was just a dark glass of urine. I’m not drinking to that ever again.
The oil was black, especially for an engine that had only seen roughly 50 miles of use. What wasn’t as black, was the creamy grey color of some sort of moisture that also came out of both the oil filter and the oil pan. Slithering around the drain pan like a snake, ready to snatch grocery money from the innocent, to pay for head gaskets, or worse, cylinder heads. Only to shed it’s skin later, elsewhere under the hood, and slide toward the truck’s next weakest point. Which to be honest, could be anywhere. Even the new rear hatch struts I bought from RockAuto couldn’t hold the tailgate up now that there’s a ladder on it.
Was this coolant? Or was this just moisture from an engine that was once left for dead in the back-40 of Uncle Earl’s Chop Shop and sometimes Medicinal Green Plant Boutique? I needed another oil change to find out. And to be honest, I wanted to drive home, then drive back to work and drain it just to find out, but that really wouldn’t tell me much. As I began driving the truck each day again to and from work, without any trips lasting longer than 30 minutes, it really sank in how far this truck has come.
Maia and I put the engine in ourselves and wrestled with all kinds of exhaust manifold issues,. Several times we played with the idea of maybe it’s time to call it quits on this pile. But here we are now, driving it back to life from the dead. While it was down, an Xterra Facebook page we had joined started to sing familiarity, as other Xterras began to drop throughout the community. I’m not big on conspiracy theories, but like my cousin who doesn’t think climate change is real but is convinced chemtrails are, I was certain this was all Obama’s fault in some way, and just like my grandmother, we too would soon end up in an internment camp for the New World Order. Because under the tinfoil hats, aren’t we all lizard people?
To be fair though it was the largest, oil wasn’t the only concern. The truck still had a bad steering box, whose dripping power steering system has long been 100% Lucas Powersteering StopLeak. The Doug Thorley ceramic-coated headers now positioned the rest of the exhaust in such a way the tailpipe rattles against the receiver, so during redlights it sounds like some drunken clown is just constantly dropping joke pots and pans. The steering wheel pulled to the right during moderate braking. This of course turned into a dangerous dance of correction under heavy or sudden braking. The best I could do was replace the front brake hoses, the seized caliper, and cut the tailpipe off to clamp on a shorter dropdown that would move it away from the receiver. Some problems solved. Others forgotten or not yet found.
After a few weeks of driving, which butted up to the day before our debut weekend winter-camping trip, it was time to inspect the oil again. This time brought heart-warming results. It was still incredibly dark, but no moisture contamination! It was seriously fantastic news.
Although I don’t carry much confidence with me into this truck, part of what little love I do have for it returned that evening. The next morning, we packed the truck full of camping gear and journeyed north into the snowflakes to camp along the AuSable river.
InAnXterra is a blog about two people in Michigan with a Nissan Xterra from Craigslist as they journey to the Dakotas!
nekotofu FC RX-7 powered by a single cam VG33 from a Pathfinder/Z31 with a Precision 6262 turbo. That's not a flyby, that's from the car just brake boosting next to it and taking off.
